Dear Angst,
You build up in my mind sometimes and it reaches the point of no looking back.
I imagine myself finally giving up and I throw things,
even the things I love,
I hear them crash against the walls and I just want to tear them apart too.
It feels good to think about sometimes,
but it only makes me angry.
Angry at life.
Angry at myself.
There are so many things I could be upset about,
but when it happens, it affects me none.
It just builds up and before I know it,
it feels like someone’s foot is on my forehead,
pushing.
Letting it sink in.
And oh it hurts.
It hurts to think and when I think of the simplest of things,
I just want to destroy it.
To destroy something I love,
because I feel I deserve it.
Maybe I do?
I feel like I deserve many things,
but people say differently.
Like they feel I need to be rewarded.
What they offer is never enough.
A constant feeling of disappointment to everyone I meet.
I never say this,
it hurts peoples feelings,
and I become the leech.
I want so many things but I know when I start,
it becomes to much.
I push people over,
give them unreal expectations.
So I never get what I want.
It’s sad but true.
If one person could just satisfy me,
they would be a prisoner to my bidding.
I would get power hungry.
I know what its like,
and I admit it.
Being hungry I mean.
I crave control.
I crave ownership.
I crave satisfaction.
I know better.
If only…
If only I didn’t care.
Imagine the kind of man I would be.
I would be one of those corrupt dictators.
We know what they are like.
No consequence.
No shame.
Freedom.
To reap the harvest and take all you can get.
People would try to make me feel guilty.
Thats a pretty chase.
Commit a crime?
Make me pay for my misdeeds.
As if I would feel guilty,
but I do.
Only because I am supposed to.
If I was only in a different place.
Born by different parents.
Live in a different country.
I would be so different.
but I would always feel the same.
Cold.
Empty.
So full of angst,
and anger.
What a pity.
